“He helped renew my faith, Diana.” He should not have said her name.
“We all saw how you were suffering when you came to us.”
“We all suffer.”
“Some more than others. I never met Paul or Peter. I’ve never met anyone who walked with Jesus. Only you.”
Silas winced inwardly. The old regret rose. “I didn’t walk with Him. Not the way you mean. Only once and for a few miles along the road, after He arose.” He could not look at her for fear of the disappointment he might see in her beautiful, dark eyes. “I must go back.” He smiled over her head. “I wouldn’t want Epanetus to think I’ve run away again.”
Macombo answered the door at the first knock. “Thank God! Come. Epanetus is pacing.”
“There you are!” The Roman strode through the courtyard. “You’ve been gone long enough to reach Pompeii!” He said nothing about Diana.
“I left the scrolls.”
“And finished the one everyone has been waiting to hear. I saw it.” Epanetus’s concern seemed unusually grave.
“What’s happened?”
“Things have changed.” Nero had widened the search for Christians. Some of the most honorable senators were dead now for no other reason than they were born of noble blood, executed by Tigellinus, the Sicilian upstart exiled by Emperor Caligula. “Tigellinus feeds Nero’s vanity as well as his fears. If anyone falls asleep during one of Nero’s performances, his life is forfeit! We can be thankful for one thing: an emperor who takes no time to rule his kingdom will not rule long.”
Andronicus, Junia, Rufus, and his dear mother, who had all been so kind to Paul, had been martyred. “They are with the Lord now,” Silas said.
“I would like to see the death of those who killed them!” Epanetus said fiercely.
Silas realized with some surprise that he felt no such hatred. “I do not wish death on any man unsaved.”
Epanetus turned. “Even Nero?”
“Even him.”
Epanetus considered him for a moment. “Julius told me Paul had great respect and affection for you. Paul told him you were a man of great intellect and compassion, a friend to him in all circumstances.”
Silas felt the prick of tears at such words. “How did you come to know Paul’s guard?”
“We served together in Judea before I fled.”
“Fled?”
“Let’s just say I made it out of Judea by the skin of my teeth and still keep an eye over my shoulder.” He glanced around. “This house doesn’t belong to me.”
Silas resisted the desire to know more. “Where is Julius now?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t heard from him in weeks. Patrobas couldn’t find him.”
Silas feared he knew what that meant. “Are you in danger?”
“Not from Rome. Not yet, at least.” The Roman relaxed somewhat, and beckoned. “Come. Have something to eat before the others arrive. You’ll never have a chance otherwise.”
“I must thank you for all you’ve done for me,” Silas said, following him.
Epanetus snorted. “I feared I chained you to your desk.”
“The task steadied me. When I came to your doorstep . . .” He shook his head. “I had little hope.”
“I’ve known men whose minds broke with less provocation than you have had, my friend. All you needed was rest and time to remember.”
Silas read the scroll that evening, from beginning to end. When he rolled it closed, he knew there were many things he had left unsaid, things more important for them to know than about his life.
Had he made himself look good by writing only the best about himself? He knew he had. Diana sat close at his feet, Curiatus beside her. Those in Jerusalem had known everything about him. These two who had come to mean so much knew nothing.
“You said nothing of your family, Silas.”
“No, I didn’t. Perhaps it’s time I do.” He had not included the shameful truth of the kind of man he had been when first he met Jesus. His heart quaked as he looked into Diana’s eyes. “There are things I must tell you.” He pulled his eyes away from her, addressing everyone. “Things I have neglected to say. I’ve tried to forget, or atone for, perhaps. . . .” He stumbled over words. “I . . .” He kept his eyes averted from her face and from Curiatus.
“My mother died when I was very young, my father when I was twenty-two. I was an only son, and inherited all the accumulated wealth of my father and his father and his father before him. From the time I could walk, I was treated as a prince, and given every advantage money could buy: education, every comfort, position. We had houses in Jerusalem and in Caesarea. With all due respect, Epanetus, I grew up in a grander house than this, with servants to answer every whim.”
He had not felt so nervous even when speaking before the Lyconians.
“Whenever my father traveled, which was often, he took me with him. I had an aptitude for languages and business, and he encouraged me, giving me responsibility at a young age.” He wrung the scroll in his hands. “I was taught that we were better than others, and believed it because of the way we were treated wherever we went. Our wealth was evidence of God’s favor, and everyone acknowledged it. Even Jesus’ disciples thought wealth meant God’s favor until Jesus told them otherwise. It is no guarantee.”
He looked around the room. Lord, forgive me. I allowed them to hold me in high esteem.
Diana took the scroll from him. “I’ll hold this while you speak, lest you ruin it.”
He swallowed hard. “I had heard about Jesus and the miracles He did, and believed Him to be a prophet of God. I wanted to meet Him. So I donned my finest robes, mounted my best mule, called for my bodyguard and servants to see to my safety and comfort, and went out to meet Him.”
He had never felt such silence.
“I wondered at His disciples, for they were the sort of men my father had taught me to avoid. Laborers, uneducated, or at least not educated to the extent I had been.” People like these looking at him now. “One was reputed to be a tax collector. I stayed on the outer edge of the crowd because I did not want to brush my robe against any of them; I thought they would make me unclean.”
He shook his head, tears filling his eyes. “Such was my pride when I went out to meet the Lord.” A moment passed before he could speak. “I was too far away to hear everything Jesus said, and listened hardly at all. I was too busy thinking about what I would say and how to say it when I got close enough to Him to speak.”
Silas closed his eyes. “He saw me coming toward Him and said something to the others. They made room for me to approach. I paid no attention to them. I’d been treated with that kind of respect all my life. People always made room for me.”
His voice roughened. “I went up to Jesus. I called Him ‘Teacher.’ To honor Him, you see. Maybe even to flatter Him. And then I asked . . .” He had to swallow before he could speak. “I asked, ‘What good deed must I do to have eternal life?’”
He felt a gentle touch on his foot. Diana looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears.
“Such was my pride, you see. I had given money to the poor every time I entered the Temple. I had always tithed as the Law required. One day, I would rise as a ruler among God’s people. Because of wealth . . . I thought I was so good Jesus would have to say, ‘Nothing more is required of you, Silas. The Lord is well pleased with you.’ Words of praise! That’s what I had heard all my life. That’s what I expected, fool that I was. I wanted God’s assurance before witnesses that I had a right to live forever.”
He let out his breath slowly. “Jesus looked at me with such love. ‘If you want to receive eternal life,’ He said, ‘keep the commandments.’
“‘Which ones?’ I asked Him, thinking one was more important than another, and Jesus listed them. ‘You must not murder. You must not commit adultery. You must not steal. You must not testify falsely. Honor your father and mother. Love your neighbor as yourself.’
“I had kept all those commandments. I even
thought I had kept the last one by giving a few coins to the hungry widows and orphans who sat on the steps of the Temple, the poor and destitute I graced with a paltry gift in the streets! I was so sure of myself that I said I had obeyed all the commandments and then asked what else I must do. I wanted to hear Him say, ‘Nothing more.’ But Jesus didn’t say that.”
He looked at Epanetus. “Jesus looked into my eyes and said, ‘If you want to be perfect, go and sell all your possessions and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow Me.’
“I felt as though the breath had been punched from me. All the assurance I had lived with all my life fell away. If obedience to the Law wasn’t enough, if wealth was not a sign of salvation, I was undone. I had no hope! ‘Then come,’ Jesus had said. If I was willing to give up everything my father and his father and his father before him had gained, and give up all the increase I had worked to achieve, then I could become His disciple.”
Silas gave a bleak laugh. “It was the first time my money and position had closed rather than opened a door. I went away, confused and miserable because I knew I couldn’t give up anything.”
“But you went back!”
“No, Curiatus. I didn’t.”
“But you must have!”
“I never approached Him again. Not directly. When Jesus looked at me that day, I knew He saw inside my heart. I was laid bare before Him. Nothing was hidden. Even the things I didn’t know about myself were clear to Him. I thought it had to do with money, but He had many wealthy friends. He raised one from the grave! I didn’t understand why He said all that to me, and not to others. It was a long time before I fully understood my sin.
“Money was my god. Worshiping the Lord had become mere ritual in order to retain it. ‘Let go of it,’ Jesus had said, ‘and then you can come to Me.’ And I was unwilling. I clung to what I had inherited. I continued to build upon it.”
Oh, how Silas regretted the time he had wasted!
“I wanted to be able to worship God without giving up anything. So I did what I had always done. I worked. I went to the Temple. I gave my tithes and offerings. I gave generously to the poor. I read the Law and the Prophets.” He clenched his fists. “And I found no peace in any of it, because I now knew that all my money would never be enough to save me. Jesus’ words made me hunger and thirst for righteousness. I wanted to please God. I couldn’t stay away from Jesus, but I couldn’t face Him either.”
He smiled ruefully. “Whenever Jesus came near Jerusalem or into the city, I went to hear Him. I would lose myself in the crowd or stand behind men taller and broader. I stood in shadows, thinking I was hidden from Him.”
“And found you couldn’t hide from God,” Epanetus said.
Silas nodded. “Sometimes I talked with the disciples—never the twelve closest to him, for fear they might recognize me, but others, like Cleopas. We became good friends.”
He closed his eyes. “And then Jesus was crucified.”
No one moved. Silas sighed and looked around the room. The memories flooded him. “Some of my father’s friends were among those who held an illegal trial in the middle of the night and condemned Him. They could not execute Jesus, so they enlisted the help of our enemies, the Romans, in order to carry out their plans. I understood them. I knew why they did it. Wealth and power! They loved the same things I did. That’s what the trial was all about. Jesus was turning the world upside down. They thought when He died everything would go back to the way it was. Caiaphas and Annas, along with many of the priests and scribes, thought they could still hold everything in the palms of their hands.”
He looked at his palms, and thought of Jesus’ nail-scarred hands. “In truth, they held no real power at all.”
“Were you at the Crucifixion?”
“Yes, Curiatus. I was there, though I wish I could have stayed away. When Cleopas and I saw that Jesus was dead, I remember being thankful it hadn’t taken Him days to die.”
Silas shook his head. “The disciples had all scattered the night Jesus was arrested at Gethsemane. Cleopas didn’t know what to do. I let him stay with me. He went out a few days later to find the others and then came back. Jesus’ body had been removed to a tomb, but now He was missing. One of the women claimed she had seen Him alive and standing in the garden outside the tomb. But this was the same woman who had had seven demons cast out of her, and I thought she had gone mad again.
“Cleopas and I were both eager to be away from the city, away from the Temple. He feared capture. I did not want to see the smug satisfaction of the scribes and priests, the Pharisees who had plotted and schemed and broken the Law to murder Jesus. Nor did I want to be around to see how the religious leaders might hunt down the disciples one by one and do to them what they had done to Jesus.” His mouth tipped. “I even left my fine mule behind, and we set off for Emmaus.”
Silas clasped his hands, but could not still the trembling inside. “As we walked along, we talked about Jesus. He had been a prophet; of that I had no doubt. But we were both left with so many questions.
“‘I thought Jesus was the one,’ Cleopas kept insisting. ‘I thought He was the Messiah.’ I had thought so, too, but I truly believed that had He been the Messiah, they couldn’t have killed Him. God wouldn’t have allowed it.
“‘But the signs and wonders!’ Cleopas said. ‘He healed the sick! He made the blind see and the deaf hear! He raised the dead! He fed thousands of people with nothing more than a loaf of bread and a few fish! How could He do all those things if He was not anointed by God?’
“I had no answers, only questions, like he did. Cleopas was grieving. So was I. A man we didn’t recognize came and joined us. ‘What are you discussing so intently as you walk along?’ He wanted to know. Cleopas told Him He must be the only person in Jerusalem who hadn’t heard about all the things that had happened over the last few days. ‘What things?’ He said. Cleopas told Him, not patiently, about Jesus. We said He was a man we believed to be a prophet who did powerful miracles. He was a great teacher we thought was the Messiah, and our leading priests and religious leaders had handed him over to be condemned to death and crucified by the Romans.”
Silas rubbed his hands together and wove his fingers tightly. “And then Cleopas told Him about the women who had gone to the tomb and found it empty, and Mary Magdalene, who claimed she saw Jesus alive. I’ll never forget the man’s words. He spoke to us as though we were frightened children, as indeed we were.
“The man sighed and called us foolish. ‘You find it so hard to believe all that the prophets wrote in the Scriptures. Wasn’t it clearly predicted that the Messiah would have to suffer all these things before entering His glory?’ He reminded us of prophecies we had not wanted to remember. The Messiah would be despised and rejected, a man of sorrows, acquainted with deepest grief. His people would turn their backs on Him. He would be struck, spat upon by His enemies, mocked, blasphemed, and crucified with criminals. Others would throw dice for his clothing.
“The stranger spoke the words of Isaiah I had heard, but never before understood: ‘He was pierced for our rebellion, crushed for our sins. He was beaten so we could be whole. He was whipped so we could be healed. All of us, like sheep, have strayed away. We have left God’s paths to follow our own. Yet the Lord laid on Him the sins of us all.’”
Silas felt the tears gather again. “I trembled as the stranger spoke, the prayer shawl over His head. I knew the truth of every word He said. My heart burned with the certainty of it. The day was late when we reached Emmaus, and we asked the man to stay. When He hesitated, Cleopas and I pleaded.
“He came in with us. We sat at the table together. The stranger broke bread and held it out to each of us. It was then I saw the palms of His hands and the scars on His wrists.” Silas blinked back tears. “I looked at Him then. He drew the mantle back, and we both saw His face. For the first time since that day when He told me to go and give everything I owned to the poor, I looked into His eye
s . . . and then He was gone.”
“Gone? How?”
“He vanished.”
Everyone whispered.
“What did you see in Jesus’ eyes, Silas?” Diana spoke gently.
He looked at her. “Love. Hope. The realization of every promise I’d ever read in Scripture. I saw an opportunity to change my mind and follow Christ. I saw my only hope of salvation.”
“What about all your money, the houses, the property?” Urbanus asked.
“I invested it. I sold off property as needs arose in the church. Food, a safe place to live, passage on a ship, provisions for a journey—whatever was needed. I sold off the last of my family holdings when Peter asked me to come with him to Rome.”
Epanetus smiled. “You gave up all of your wealth to spread the message of Christ!”
“I gained far more than I gave up. I’ve been welcomed to hundreds of houses, and had a home in every city I’ve lived in.” He looked around the room, into each pair of eyes. “And brothers and sisters, fathers and mothers, even children beyond counting.” He opened his hands, palms up. “And along with all those blessings, I gained the desire of my heart: the assurance of eternal life in God’s presence.” He laughed softly and shook his head. “I haven’t a single shekel or denarius left to my name, but I am richer now by far than I was when all Judea gave deference to me as a rich young ruler.”
The hour was late when the gathering dispersed. Small groups left at intervals and went out different doors so they could melt back into the city without rousing suspicion. Diana and Curiatus had been among the first to go. A few lingered.
“What you’ve written will be read for generations to come, Silas.”
Silas could only hope the copies of Paul’s and Peter’s letters would be protected. “The letters will guide you. . . .”
“No. I meant your story.”
Sons of Encouragement Page 88
